Edge
by gracesane
Summary: I heard Jessica hiss "I said don't look!" but I was preoccupied with the beautiful green of his eyes, a marvelous meadow green glimmering right at me. He had beautiful marble skin, making him look like a statue of Adonis or perhaps Narcissus. 1921 AH.
1. Prologue: A Difficult Thing

Disclaimer: I don't own _Twilight. _I don't own Bella, or Edward. I don't even own an Edward doll…I used to own an Edward poster, though. Then my mummy threw it out.

_AN:_ Well, I'm sure there is probably some story that is exactly like this. You're wondering "What makes this story any different?" I'm not really sure, considering I haven't read any stories about this, but I can promise you that I'll put my own spin on it.

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There's never a right time to do a difficult thing

John Porter

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Prologue: A Difficult Thing

_August 6th, 1918_

I'll never forget that day. I was fourteen and awkward. It was a Tuesday. The sixth of August. I was in my room – which was large and as white as nothingness – sitting at my vanity.

That vanity was the only thing I liked in my room. It was elegant and just right. Everything else in my room was too grand for my taste. The bizarre _bozart_ on my wall. The strangely embroidered duvet. All of it. The rest of the house was cozy but my room had once belonged to my paternal grandmother and her tastes dominated the room. I had never met her; she died long before I was born, but the picture of her on the corridor wall was enough for me. She looked austere and a bit masculine, although, I suppose that might have had to do with her husband, my grandfather, dying while she was pregnant with my father. Grandmother was headstrong.

When my mother was angry with me, she would always tell me that I was like my grandmother. Mother hadn't gotten along well with Grandmother, and she meant what she said to me as an insult. Sometimes, given the odious manner in which Mother impugned our house and Grandmother, I felt insulted.

I loved my mother dearly. She was gorgeous, luscious hair and dark eyes. Everyone told me all the time that I looked exactly like her, but I would never agree. She was the epitome of youthfulness, always smiling and radiating happiness wherever she went. When I was younger, I would sit in front of my vanity, trying, but failing to, pile my hair up the same elegant way she would. Of course, I could never pull off her hairstyle, but my parents, nevertheless, found it positively darling.

Now, I was once again sitting in front of my vanity, my straw sunhat and brush lying by my hand. I inspected myself in the vanity mirror, doing my hair as perfectly as I could. Father was coming back for the week, and I planned on making it perfect. He was coming back from France, and although I heard all the stories about lovely French girls in Paris, I knew Father was anxious to see Mother. He loved Mother dearly.

It was such a beautiful day for brunch outside. The sun was shining, the birds chirping a little song. It was as if all of nature knew today was when Father was coming back. I remember the breeze blowing through the tree leaves, rustling them. It was ethereal. And I was excited. I had so much to show Father – my new shoes, my sudden growth.

"I know!"

I turned toward the door at Mother's voice. Her voice was strained, almost pleading. She sounded hurt. I needed to help her. Standing up from my vanity, I briskly walked to the door, but remained cautious. There very well could have been an axe murderer on the other side of the door.

"You should tell her."

A gruff voice was on the other side of the door. It was quiet, but I would recognize that voice anywhere. That was Father, back from France already. And I wasn't even ready!

I couldn't help myself. I threw open the door and ran out to hug my father. He was much thinner than he was before he left. He looked tired, raggedly so. He was fragile, as if living in France had broken him. I suppose France wasn't all pretty women and glory. There was more to defeating the Kaiser than _When Yankee Doodle Learns to Parlez Vous Francais_.

"Father!" I looked up at him, hoping my smiling face would cause him to smile. He did smile, but only a bit. It was more for show, not reaching his eyes. His eyes didn't crinkle in the corners like they used to. He didn't pick me up and twirl me around, calling me his little bell.

I looked at him again, but this time I really looked. He wasn't wearing his brunch best. He wasn't even wearing any decent outfit. He was in his casual around-the-house clothes. I couldn't help but frown.

"Why aren't you dressed?"

Mother stepped forward, grabbing my arm and pulling me outside and away from Father. Mother was all dolled up, as ready as I was for brunch outside. However, I knew we weren't going for brunch. Something had happened, and that something was big.

Mother kept pulling me, my wrist starting to chafe, until we were sitting under the little dogwood tree planted in our courtyard. She looked at me with a grimace, and I couldn't help feeling as if this was somehow my fault. Whatever this was.

"Hun," Mother started, "Your father and I are getting a divorce."

I blanched. A divorce? Nobody with a reputation got a divorce. Nobody got a divorce without a reason like adultery or abuse, and I knew that Father would never do either. He loved Mother dearly.

"Why?" I croaked out. "What's wrong?" It all seemed so perfect. We were such a perfect family.

"I can't stand it." Mother's words were soft. "I can't stand living here anymore."

"We can move!" I didn't understand it. "We don't have to stay here." We could all move together as a family. Moving didn't comprise divorce.

"I found someone else."

That broke me. Someone else. Someone else. All this time while Father was risking his life for world peace and democracy, Mother was seeing someone else. She was sneaking off, meeting another man. It made no sense. Why would she do such a thing when Father loved her so much? What was she lacking in our house?

"No!"

I was off. Running through the streets of Chicago, my good dress being soiled on the filthy city streets. I didn't care. Let my new dress be sullied. Let my hair be ruined. There were more important things than brunch.

I was heartbroken. Mother and Father were divorcing. They were going their separate ways, meaning I was moving out. With Father fighting, I would be moving with Mother. I would be going to whatever wild place she decided to move. I would be away from Father, from Chicago. Away from the city I grew up in.

My shoes clacked on the newly paved roads as I ran to wherever my feet would take me. I would go as far away as it took to make sure I never saw my family crumble to pieces.

Unfortunately, my feet wouldn't take me that far.

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AN: I know, I know. It's not how it happens in _Twilight_. But, for all intents and purposes, it works better this way. Trust me. Read&Review.


	2. Chapter One: Good Luck

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or anything Twilight related (except all four Twilight books and the short novelette about The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner). Everything belongs to Stephenie Meyer. Well, not the writing. _I_ slaved over that.

AN: I was adamant in my quest to finish this chapter this week. While I should be studying for my last exam (darn you French exam for being rescheduled because of snow), I just _had_ to finish this chapter, no matter how irritatingly long (over 7,000 words). This is going to seem a lot like the first chapter of the book, but hey, read it anyway. The point of _Edge_ is to be like Twilight, only all human and in the 1920s (gosh, how I _love_ the 1920s). Trust me, it starts to get interesting as the story progresses. I promise. So, R&R (Read and Review), please?

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"Good luck tended to avoid me." (Twilight 11)

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Chapter One: Good Luck.

Sometimes, I think Life is just playing one large joke on me, or he harbors an unknown grudge against me. How else could I be sitting in my father's police automobile? It's been over two years since I last saw my father; at that time, he was Charlie Swan of the United States Armed Forces, but now, he was once again Chief Charlie Swan of the Chicago Police Department.

I spent most of my train rides from Phoenix to Chicago wondering how my father would receive me. Would he be happy to see me? Would he be angry that my mother left him for a draft dodging, younger man, like Phil? Would he be upset that I looked so much like my mother? More importantly, how does he feel about me staying with him permanently? Or at least temporarily permanently?

I still didn't know how my father felt about me, even though I had met him at the train station over half an hour ago. He was helpful, taking all of my bags, but he was also reticent, only nodding his greetings to me. He looked older than I remembered him, _much_ older than I remembered him.

Although only two years had passed, he looked as if a decade had taken its toll on him. He had a few wrinkles, but he hadn't gained much weight, and perhaps had lost a few pounds even after returning from the war. His curly brown hair was thinning, he looked like he hadn't slept in years, and the familiar twinkling in his eyes had disappeared. Where was the man who would carry me on his back when I was younger? Where was the man I used to call Daddy? He had disappeared with my mother. It was as if she had taken away his happiness when she decided to leave him, when she decided to take me with her.

The car came to an abrupt halt right in front of the old house– _my _old house. The grey paint was starting to peel, the porch that encompassed the entire house was off-white, and the stoop's cracking stairs led right to the door of the rusty little gate leading into the forest. The lawn looked dead with its patches of straw-yellow grass. I was certain that the evening was kind to the house. In bright daylight, the house would look much worse.

Too caught up in my old house, I missed my father walk past me, my two bags in his hands.

"Oh D-" I stopped short, the word foreign on my tongue. Suddenly, I felt as if I were standing on one side of a large fissure while my father was standing on the other. "Daddy" sounded childish, much too childish after two years. He didn't hear my strangled protest, and kept walking, expecting me to follow. I did.

My father had always been a nice, fun-loving man, but he had been a soldier and was currently the chief of the city's police department. There had always been a unspoken rule that everything in the house would be orderly, every rule of his followed, every rule _ever_ was to be followed. My mother had a completely different attitude.

She was a free spirit. Rules were silly, meant to be broken. Schedules were constricting; one should live on the edge, have fun. Life was too short to waste it sitting in a stuffy old house. Life was a river meant to be travelled like a flow.

Secretly, I've always wanted to be like my mother. She was mentally younger than I ever was. I was too much like my father: at times shy or socially awkward, pensive, dangerously curious, tidy to a fault, faithfully loyal despite what happens. That was Father's Achilles' heel: faithful. I supposed I never realized the disparity between my father and mother until they divorced. Sometimes, I was stunned their marriage lasted so long.

"Bella," Father said, his voice gruff from the hours of silence. My musings distracted me while I travelled through the house, but my father reeled my back to reality. I found myself standing at a familiar door. "This is your room."

"I know," I murmured, a surreal feelings creeping over me. I was _home_, not at that house in Phoenix. This was uptown Chicago, the home of the rich and famous, the home of fun and love. My home. Father set my luggage down in that room I used to abhor. Strange, how after a few years, I had changed my mind. I was in love with the room.

"You have school tomorrow, so I'll just leave you to get ready for bed." he said awkwardly, as he turned away from me with a mumbled "Goodnight" and walked out my bedroom door.

Childishly, I twirled around the room, my skirt flowing out, forming a halo around my legs. There was the bozart, the duvet, the vanity, that gramophone I never used, ever. I sat down on the plush stool before my vanity, surprised that everything I left here in Chicago was still here, untouched. I ignored the thick blanket of dust that covered everything, simply content to see all of my old belongings. My eternally empty jewelry box was still intact, though I wondered if it would still open, or if it would fall apart, eaten by rust and summer humidity. Gingerly, I opened the box and gasped.

Father had left me a present, and by its lack of dust, recently. I tore the wrapping off carefully, half of me irritated, half of me curious. I didn't want others to spend money on me, I never did. My reaction to the actual present wasn't that of a seventeen-year-old, nor a fourteen-year-old; it was that of a toddler. I squeaked in delight at the dark mahogany box imprinted with a floral pattern. I opened the lid and found I was even more delighted at the beautiful sound of the piano playing my favorite song: _Claire de Lune._ The inside of the lid held a little message on a fraying piece of paper: _February 27, 1880: For Helen. All my love, your father Uriah_.

The music box was an antique, a present from my great-grandfather to my grandmother, and my father had chosen to give it to me. Warmth overtook me, and the anxious feeling of being back in Chicago disappeared; I knew that Father held the music box dear, for it was his mother's music box. It was a beautiful present, a welcome back gift from Father, an attempt at creating a bridge across the chasm in our relationship. I traced my finger along the smooth wood of the box, absentmindedly, until my finger felt a thin groove at the bottom. The groove was a part of a line that ran around the perimeter of the box. _A secret compartment?_

I tried to pry it open, jiggling it tenderly, in case it really wasn't a secret compartment. When the bottom of the music box unfastened, and something fell into my lap, I almost had a heart attack. Had I and my clumsy ways, accidentally broken my grandmother's music box, no doubt a family heirloom? I glanced down, wondering what chunk of the music box broke off and landed in my lap. I hadn't broken the box – there was simply something hidden in the compartment. I picked up the offending piece of metal that had me worried. It was a key on a chain, carved onto it the letters _IS_ for Isabella Swan; it was my own key to the house.

I immediately started flinging open drawers, searching for my old stationery, hoping it wouldn't be dirt-stained with time. I found my stationery set, covered in dust, but still decent, and scrawled a quick _Thank you_. I silently slipped out of my room, and slinked around the house, careful not to create unnecessary clamor. Father was sleeping, and the house was pitch-black, but after two years, I still knew the house like the back of my hand.

Every morning Father would go downstairs and collect his gear from his drawer in the hall. He used to worry that I would somehow injure myself with his pistol, which Mom thought was absurdly over-protective. I had no doubt that Father still left the pistol in his drawer, and would retrieve it before leaving tomorrow morning. He was a creature of habit.

There was the evil piece of furniture I was forbidden to touch as a child. It always seemed to laugh at me, whenever I passed by it. I wasn't particularly intent on playing with dangerous weapons, but the untouchable aspect of the drawer made me curious. Because I was inhibited from touching the drawer, I had to go near it, attempt to open it despite knowing it would always be locked. Lo and behold, even now, as I yanked on the handle, the drawer was locked. I sighed and placed the thank you note on top of the drawer.

There was no point in trying to break open the drawer for a simple note. Knowing me, I would break something, most likely me and not the furniture. Despite gaining a few years, I was still as awkwardly clumsy as ever. My friends at school would find it hilarious that I was still as gawky as ever. With that thought, I headed back to my room, and fell asleep almost peacefully. I would see my old friends at school again, they would make life in Chicago bearable, no matter what had happened the past two years.

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The sound of my stomach grumbling angrily woke me. I breathed out, aware that once I opened my eyes, the angry Phoenix sun would burn my irises. I covered my eyes with my forearm, using it as a shield, before opening my eyes. But, when I finally opened my eyes, I wasn't hit with blinding light from the window above my head. In fact, there was no window there. I shot straight out of my bed, disconcerted by my strange surroundings. A few seconds passed, but I blew out a breath I was subconsciously holding in when, and only when, I realized that I was in Chicago with Father, not in Phoenix with Mom and Phil. And then I half-smiled, half-frowned when I realized I would be going back to school today.

I strolled to my closet, now full with the clothes Mom bought me before I left Phoenix, and grabbed the first outfit my hands touched, a dress and a hat. I wasn't overly enthusiastic about what I wore, but Mom's impeccable fashion sense ensured that I was always wearing something in fashion. Mom's fashion sense also ensured that people thought she was my older sister, and not my mother. Mom was charismatic and youthful. She was risk taker, and I was merely her responsible daughter. I had a feeling that with Father, he'd be the responsible one in our parent-child relationship.

I quietly opened the door into the hallway, unsure if Father had woken yet. I couldn't hear anything and I tiptoed to the bathroom, and did my morning ritual – brush my teeth, floss, and shower, and dress.

I glanced at myself in the mirror, double-checking to make I was wearing the dress properly before going out in public. Today was my first day back at school, and it would do me no good to be parading around Chicago with my dress inside out. I wasn't by any means a beauty, but at least no one could say that Chief Swan's daughter was ugly. Although my friends care for me, I know that everyone in school would watching me today, gossiping about my return to Chicago. Father was influential in the city, and I was certain everybody in the city knew about Mom's departure. It was probably the biggest gossip of the year, and now that I was back, the gossip would continue. I tried to look on the bright side: at least I would be with people I knew.

I heard something downstairs, and assumed that Father had woken up while I was showering. Walking out of the bathroom, I heard the discordant sound of pots and pans and smelled something that made my nose scrunch up in disgust. Was that supposed to be our breakfast? Was something burning? Was there a fire? I rushed down the stairs, almost slipping on the landing, thinking '_Stop, drop and roll. Stop, drop and roll.'_

The sight I found downstairs filled me with relief and a bit of laughter. Father had burnt something, but it wasn't the kitchen. He was frowning, well, more like glaring, at our Copeman automatic toast turning toaster. In his hand were two pieces of toast, black as night. There was an empty pan on the gas stove, which was turned on, but cooking nothing. Next to the stove, on the granite counter was a bowl thick clumpy flour.

"Do you need help?" I asked, unable to watch the kitchen become a mess. Father seemed surprised that I was in the kitchen, which surprised me. He must have been very preoccupied in trying to make breakfast, otherwise he would have noticed me long before he did. Father had eyes in the back of his head; it's what made him such a great officer.

Father looked at me perplexed. "Sure," he finally said. "I'm not much of a cook." He looked pointedly at his toast.

I smiled at him and told him, "Why don't you sit down? Breakfast is my treat today." He flashed me a thankful smile before walking into the next room, the dining room, and sitting down. I heard the rustling of paper as Father flipped through today's paper. I was relieved that he wasn't staying in the kitchen with me. I felt like a bumbling clown around him, and I'm positive he may have felt the same way.

I was no miracle worker, so I really couldn't salvage anything Father had tried to cook. I had to start from scratch. As the toaster toasted the bread and the pancakes cooked on the pan, I squeezed out some fresh orange juice and poured it into two glasses, one for me and one for Father, wondering how he had ever survived on his cooking the past two years. I rummaged through the kitchen cabinets in search of a tray, not used to the disorganization of the room. Father was probably too busy to clean, for the house itself was a mess. I couldn't find the silver platter that Mom had always used to serve food, so I settled for balancing the food in my arms and bringing breakfast into the dining room. I prayed that I wouldn't drop anything and make a fool of myself in front of Father. Creating a mess in the dining room would be an inauspicious start to our first actual day together.

"Oh," I heard Father's surprised murmur when I entered the room. He cleared his throat, and added, "That looks and smells delicious." There was a hidden implication there, saying that he probably expected my cooking to be as poor as Mom's.

I blushed at the compliment, feeling that maybe, just maybe living together in Chicago wouldn't be too hard.

We ate breakfast in silence, which was still awkward, but not as awkward as yesterday's car ride. The silence ensured we both finished our breakfasts quickly.

"So," I said, my voice sounding like an annoying buzz of swarming bees. Father looked up from his paper and waited for me to continue. "When does school start?"

"Usually at seven-forty-five," he said, looking back at his newspaper. The clock showed it was barely past seven. "So, we'll head out as soon as you're ready and I can make sure they have all of your paperwork."

"Shouldn't they already have my paperwork?" He looked at me again. "I mean, I did go there before…" I trailed off, feeling insensitive for bringing up the Incident.

"Bella," Father said, putting down his paper. That never meant anything good. "You're not going back to your old school. The school you're enrolled in is closer to our house than the school you were in previously."

"Oh," I said, trying not to frown. There went my hopes that today would be a decent day. "I'm ready now." I had bought my bag and coat downstairs with me before, sort of excited to see my old friends.

As I walked out the door behind Father, I frowned even more, realizing that I would arrive at my new school in Father's cop car. I might as well put a sign on my dress that said "Hey, look here! I'm here for your entertainment!"

Father, like a gentleman, opened the car door for me, and I sat inside, secretly loathing the car and its new technology. Father walked around the car and got in on his side. The engine rumbled as the automobile started. We passed through Chicago, which in the early winter morning, seemed like the prettiest city in the world. While in Phoenix, I missed the snowy Christmas' of Chicago. I had spent the last Christmas in Phoenix with Mom and Phil before leaving for Chicago. Needless to say, it was much colder here than in Phoenix, and I was thankful Mom bought me so many coats.

The car ride to the school was only a few minutes long, definitely shorter than the ride to my former school. It was guarded by a large gate, which we parked outside of. Thankfully, no one was at the school yet, so no one was staring at me and Father. He guided me inside the building, into a room labeled _Office_. The school had a nice smell to it, and I shortly wondered why I didn't attend here if it was so nice and so close.

"Oh, Chief Swan," a dainty almost old lady with red hair and glasses called out as soon as she saw him. "I see you brought your daughter." She graced me with a huge smile that stretched from ear to ear; I tried not to cringe. If the reception in the town was anything like the receptionist inside the office, I was in for a rough day.

"Isabella, we've been waiting to you come to our school ever since we heard you were moving back to Chicago." She continued to smile like her life depended on it. "My name is Mrs. Cope."

"Good morning," I attempted a smile. "Please, call me Bella."

"Of course, of course," she nodded in a manner that clearly meant she wasn't listening any more. "Chief Swan, I can take her from here. I'm sure you're a very busy man after all."

"I am," Father replied as he turned to look at me. His head was tilted toward the door, asking if I would be ok here by myself. I mustered up a smile and nodded, hiding the fact that I was nervous and scared in the unfamiliar surroundings. He left, the office door sending a chilly wind through the room.

"Here is your schedule. Here are some papers that your teachers should sign today. Return them at the end of the day" Mrs. Cope handed me a stack of paperwork, and I hoped I didn't have to read any of it. "Oh, and one more thing, darling." She added a set of clothes to the pile. "This is your uniform. You probably didn't know that, this being your first day at the Academy, but you don't have to change out of your lovely blue dress today. It's the assessment lunch."

A uniform? The Academy? What sort of school did Father send me to?

My confusion must have been apparent, because she smiled a motherly smile and patted me on the back. "Everyone's in their best outfits today, because the school board is coming to assess the school's development during lunch."

I nodded, and she ushered me to the door. "Have fun." I doubted I would, but I threw everything but my schedule in my bag and headed out the office door.

The hallways filled up while I was in the office. Other students were loitering around the school, talking to each other and laughing at their own jokes. I felt like an outsider – that is until I drew attention to myself by walking down the hall. I could feel my face flush as people turned to look at me, curiously. I doubt they knew who I was since I never went to school with them, but they must have known that I was new; otherwise, they wouldn't have given me a second glance.

To be completely honest, I was lost in this school. I had English first, but I had no idea where that was. I didn't dare ask anyone for directions, at least not anyone who looked like they were looking at me.

There was a lanky boy with greasy black hair reading off of some sort of flyer, muttering to himself. He looked completely harmless and like the perfect candidate to help me find my class.

"Excuse me," I said, quietly. For a moment, I wasn't sure if he heard me. Then he looked away from the flyer, an irritated expression on his face.

"Wh-" He paused. "Oh, hi."

"Hello," I asked more than stated. The encounter was awkward, and I contemplated walking away and pretending it never happened. "I'm Bella, and I'm a bit lost."

He smiled enthusiastically. "Oh, I know who you are. The entire school was expecting you today." I couldn't help but groan. "What's wrong?"

"I was really hoping no one knew who I was." I really was. Was it too much to ask for a bit of anonymity in a big city like Chicago?

"Of course, everyone knows who you are." He seemed oblivious to my anxieties as he chattered away. "You're Isabella Swan, daughter of Chief Swan. By the way, I'm Eric, the eyes and ears of this place." He paused for a moment assessing my physical appearance for the first time. "Are you sure you're feeling fine? You look really pale for someone who lived in Arizona."

I could feel a headache starting to form. The entire school probably knew my entire life story before I even left Phoenix. I could have explained my abhorrence of attention to Eric, but he probably didn't care. Instead, I told him, "My mother is part albino," as I put on a smile. He didn't laugh, and my smile immediately turned into a frown.

"What's your first class?" he asked, pulling my schedule out of my hand. "English? Great! I have English too. We can walk there together."

The walk to English wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Eric filled up the silence pretty quickly, talking the entire time. I nodded my head a few times and murmured "Mhm" at some points as well. And Eric kept talking all the way to English.

The English room was small and empty, and I wondered how many students would be in my class. I was living in a city, so there should be a lot of students in the school. I walked in and the desks were in columns of five and rows of five. There were twenty-five seats altogether, meaning, there would be only twenty-five students. Shouldn't such a big school have more students per class?

Eric led me to a desk and sat in the adjacent desk. An annoying bell rang, signaling that classes were about to start. Students trickled in at a rate of a few per minute until seven-forty-five. All of them glanced at me when they walked in. When another bell rang, I assumed the entire class was here, and I looked around, avoiding the glances others sent me, and saw that the class was actually smaller than twenty-five students. There were less than twenty.

The girl sitting on the other side of me, a girl with brown curly hair, smiled at me as I looked around the room. She leaned over toward my desk in her pretty pink dress, and said, "Hi, my name is Jessica. You must be Isabella Swan, right?"

"Bella," I corrected her, aware that everyone in the class was listening in, their own conversations having died down. "Call me Bella."

"Bella." Jessica's smile seemed genuine enough, and I really couldn't sense any ulterior motives for her friendliness. But, then again, I was a really bad at reading faces. "What classes do you have?"

"Miss Stanley," a balding man said as he walked into the English room. "I could hear you from the other side of the school." He must have been the teacher. I glanced down at my schedule and found _English_; it said the teacher's name was Mr. Mason.

"Sorry, sir," she smiled sheepishly at him before glancing at me.

"Everyone, we have a new student today." I turned crimson red when everyone turned around to look at me. "Would you like to stand up and introduce yourself?"

I thought about saying _'No, I'd rather just sit here if that's ok with you,' _but thought better of it. I stood up, flattening out my dress and smiled the sincerest smile I could. "Hello, I'm Bella Swan." Then, I sat back down painfully aware that everyone could see me blushing like a tomato.

"Bella," Mr. Mason added, "is Chief Swan's daughter." I blushed even more, although most of the school probably knew that already.

The rest of the class and well the rest of the morning were pretty repetitious. Every teacher forced me to stand up and introduce myself, unfortunately. Fortunately, Jessica was in my next two morning classes, which Eric was none too happy about. As my classes progressed there seemed to be more and more students crowding around my desk before classes started.

One boy in particular was overly enthusiastic about my life in Phoenix and about me being Father's daughter. He had a boyish face, cute with dimples, and blue eyes and blond hair. His name was Mike Newton, and the few snippets of conversation I had with him revealed that his father and mother owned a sporting goods business (the best one in all of Chicago). He also played football on the school's team, and I assumed that he was probably very popular. Many girls were always giggling about him, Jessica being one of them.

Once my last morning class, math, was finished, Jessica grabbed my arm and pulled me through the school, Mike and then Eric following a few meters behind us.

"You have copacetic timing," Jessica exclaimed. Was copacetic good? "Today's the day the school board and all of the school's benefactors come to the Academy and assess the school. Lunch is this whole affair where everyone is dressed up and the food is twenty times better than normal, which is nearly impossible, and then there's an assembly afterwards so you miss all of the afternoon classes. This only happens once a year so you came on exactly the right day."

"I never had this at my old school." I glanced back at Mike and Eric, who pretended to be in their own conversation. Or at least Eric was trying to make small talk with Mike, who ignored him. "Here in Chicago I mean."

"Oh, that's right!" Jessica cupped her face in her palms, looking contemplative. "You used to go to a public school. The Academy was paid for by the rich. They just want to make sure their dough is going to good use and educating their kids in the best environment possible."

I almost sputtered. A private school? Father had sent me off to a private school full of rich kids? No wonder everyone looked either extraordinarily smart (as in Eric) or attractive (as in Jessica, Mike, i.e., everyone but me). My hopes of fitting in well just flew out the window. Not only was I the daughter of the woman who cheated on and left the famous Chief Swan, but I was plain and ill-cultured.

"This is the school cafeteria." I glanced around as Jessica talked about the wonderful lunches we got. The ceiling was high, the windows long and running across the wall parallel to the doors. The tables were covered in table clothes and half of the chairs, the ones on the far side of the room, were large and fancy, for the board members, no doubt. If Mom were here, she would scoff and say that the board members shouldn't get any special privileges. She never enjoyed the fancy dinners Father would take her out to. She thought it was a waste of time for such modern people to continue such barbaric traditions of wealth.

"Let's go to the buffet table. We won't be able to get food once the guests come in." Jessica only released my arm when we reached the table, replete with the most delicious food looking food I've ever seen. Because the windows were slightly open, the aroma of the food would waft toward us with the wind. "You're sitting with me, right?"

"Of course," I reassured her. I was certain that I was stuck with her whether I liked it or not.

I followed her to one of the tables where a few students were already sitting. As soon as I sat down, Mike and Eric sat down as well, Mike taking the closest available seat, next to Jessica. Clearly, they were still following us, probably dying to get the latest scoop on me, the strange Swan girl who had gone to public school up until today.

"Bella, this is Angela. Angela, Bella," Jessica pointed to a sweet-looking brown-haired, brown-eyed girl. She smiled shyly, a smile which I returned. Jessica didn't pay much attention to the other half of the table; everything she needed was on my side of Mike and Eric. "I can tell we're going to be super great friends."

"So, what's Phoenix like," Eric asked me, then threw Mike a disparaging look.

"Oh, well it's a lot warmer than here," I observed. What was I supposed to say? I went to school most of the time, barely leaving the comforts of the indoors. I'm sure my pale skin said that much.

"Shh," Jessica grabbed my arm. "There comes the principal. That means everyone's coming in. I'll tell you who's who, since you'll be seeing these people a lot."

Jessica told me about an elderly couple, the grandparents of some younger student at the school. Apparently, they had been alive since the Civil War (though I sincerely doubt that's true). There was this balding man whose hair had jumped off his head and into his ears (disgusting). He owned a chain of grocery stores around the area. Another man with hair problems was the owner of a highly fashionable boutique across the city. I barely paid attention to the gossip Jessica threw at me. I didn't know, nor did I care to know any of the benefactors and board members. I preferred minding my own beeswax, thank you very much. Eric and Mike had gone into a starting contest, as bored with the gossip as I was.

However, I ate my words, when a large group of impossibly beautiful kids, no older than me. "Who are they?" I whispered to Jessica. This once, I was thankful she decided to give me a detailed life story.

"The richest kids in town," she breathed, sounding as awestruck as I. "Only one them goes to school here, though. Alice Cullen is the youngest and the shortest."

I glanced at the group and quickly found the one she was referring to. Alice was short, but had proportionally small features. She had spiky black hair, and seemed to dance across the room with a pixie-like smile on her face.

"She's dating Jasper Whitlock, the one with the blond hair. He's originally from Texas, but his family moved here when he first started at the Academy. He graduated last year."

Jasper was easy to spot. His eyes were glued on Alice, a protective but caring gaze in his eyes. She was clearly his world.

"Rosalie Hale is the tall wavy-blonde. She graduated two years ago."

Rosalie was also easy to spot, not only because she was the only other girl, but because she looked like someone out of a fashion catalogue: gorgeous.

"Rosalie is engaged to Emmett Cullen – the big one. He graduated four years ago."

It was hard to miss Emmett. He was not only tall, but very muscular. He had curly brown hair, and dimples appeared whenever he smiled. I wasn't sure whether to be scared of him or think he was adorable.

"Dr. Cullen is the best doctor in the city. He and his wife were like saints during the Spanish flu, which you probably remember. They're in their early forties, but they both look so much younger. The whole family is gorgeous."

I chanced another glimpse. They were seating themselves at one of the nicer tables on the other side of the room. I caught a flash of bronze and perfect green eyes. Turning to Jessica, I asked, "Who's the last one?"

"Oh, that's Edward. He also graduated last year with Jasper." She turned around to look at them. "He's ab-so-lute-ly gorgeous, a real Joe Brooks if I ever saw one, but he doesn't date. Hasn't even gone on a date once." She turned around quickly, a sparkle in her blue eyes. "Don't look now, but he's looking this way."

I, being a fool, looked anyway before I could stop myself. I heard Jessica hiss "I said don't look!" but I was preoccupied with the beautiful green of his eyes, a marvelous meadow green glimmering right at me. He had beautiful marble skin, making him look like a statue of Adonis or perhaps Narcissus. He wasn't as huge as Emmett, more lean muscle than bulky muscle. He smiled, and I blushed and looked away, hiding under my hat and behind my hair. Seeing my blush, Mike and Eric whipped around to stare at the Cullen-Hale table, angry expressions on their faces. I felt guilty, for I had been ignoring them and monopolizing the conversation with Jessica. I had been here for less than a day, and I had already made myself a nuisance.

I risked another look at their table, but he was busy listening to his family talk around him.

"So, Bella," Mike, who seemed less irritated now, broke the silence on our side of the table. "What's your schedule?"

"Oh," I sighed, pulling out my schedule. "Here you go." I gave him the paper and watched as Jessica, Eric, and Mike read through it like their lives depended on it. I glanced at Angela, who shrugged her shoulders at me, just as unsure what to do as they studied my schedule.

"You have science with me," Mike exclaimed. "Too bad we don't have it today."

"And you have P.E. with all of us as well!" Jessica told me. "I think we're going to start badminton this week." She was filled with excitement, and I was not.

The rest of lunch was filled with Jessica's, Eric's, and Mike's chattering about how much I would love the Academy, and how I must be excited to be back in Chicago. I didn't have the heart to tell them, that I was still pretty upset about it, nor would I ever let them know. They were enthusiastic about me, maybe a little too much for my liking, but they were nice, befriending me despite the known scandal surrounding my family.

The principal spent the last few minutes of lunch making a small speech. I wasn't really listening, though I caught a few fragments of the speech.

"Thank you for coming today. I hope you all enjoyed your lunches. I know I did." There were a few laughs, though I really didn't find it funny. "Next on today's agenda is the Progress assembly. So, if everyone would file out in an orderly manner – board members and benefactors first!"

I looked around me, as everyone stood up, seeming to know where they were going. I was once again lost.

"Bella! Come with me!" Mike appeared out of thin air, grabbed my arm in the same manner Jessica had done all day and pulled me through the school. I was starting to get used to this treatment. I was a new toy that everyone fought over, and hopefully, my novelty would wear off and everyone would leave plain old Bella alone.

"We have to make sure we get good seats. We don't want to be stuck next to some stuffy old high hat." High hat? "Come on." He pulled on my arm, dragging me forward until we were stuck behind a large crowd of people trying to funnel through one set of doors. Obviously, this was poorly planned.

"Darn," he muttered, "We better not be stuck with some killjoys."

"Well," I started, "I really wouldn't mind if we were." He looked startled for a moment. "I mean, as long as we're sitting together." A cute grin formed on his face, and I sighed in relief. For a second, I'm sure he thought I was an odd bird.

When we finally stepped into the room, I gasped. It was a beautiful ballroom-esque room with a high ceiling and high windows. It reminded me of the cafeteria, except much more elegant with rose red drapery and a stage. Unfortunately, most of the seats were already taken, and Mike and I had to search for a table with two empty seats.

Mike must have spotted one, for I was jerked forward toward a table full of board members. There were, indeed, two empty seats, but they weren't side by side. Just my luck. I didn't know how to make conversation with rich people. Mike took the seat on the closer side of the table, so I had to walk around the table, almost tripping when I heard someone whisper my name. I glanced at the people sitting next to me – some old lady who was definitely a snob if her facial expression was anything to judge by. The person on the other side, my left, was, in my opinion better than the old lady. Much better, considering he had smiled at me less than an hour ago.

But, as I sat down, I noticed he was tense, and while everyone else at the table glanced at me and smiled, he was ignoring me completely. I didn't smell funny, did I? I frowned, flipping my hair over my shoulder to smell it. I smelled fine…didn't I? I know I didn't do anything bad between lunch and now, so maybe someone else made him angry. But, as a precaution, I pulled all of my hair over my left shoulder, using it as a curtain to hide me from Edward and his cold green eyes. I shifted my chair slightly, angling it more towards the elderly lady on my right side.

The lady seized the opportunity and started up a conversation with me.

"How are you, dear?" She smiled enthusiastically. "I'm Sarah Gibbs."

I hesitated, unsure of her motive. Did she want to dig up some dirt about Mom or me? I glanced at Mike, who was already in his own conversation with the men around him.

"I'm Bella. Bella Swan." I sent her a shaky smile.

"I know that silly girl!" I blushed. "I used to be friends with your grandmother. We were quite close up until her death." I narrowed my eyes. Mom always called Grandmother Swan a nasty, ladder-climbing, old society hag; she didn't really care that she spoke ill of the dead. So, was Ms. Gibbs a nasty old hag by association?

"I remember you when you were little, though I suppose you don't remember me. You used to call me Gramama Red, because of my red coat, and well because you were learning your colors when you first saw me." I blushed, embarrassed at the little anecdote that half the table was listening to. "How do you like the school?"

"Today's my first day, but I think the school's very nice."

"Of course it is!" She laughed, a few people joining in. "It's the best school in Chicago, a definite step up from the public schools your mother made you attend." Instantly, I became guarded. Mom was a nice person, and I would not listen to anyone demean her. "Relax, Bella," she whispered to me. "I meant nothing against your mother. She's a charming lady. I just never understood why she would be against putting you in a nice private school when money wasn't an issue."

"Mhm," I nodded, disbelievingly. She _definitely_ thought well of Mom.

A hush fell over the room, as the principal started the assembly or, whatever this was. I played with my fingers, avoiding eye contact with Ms. Gibbs and Edward, both of whom made me want to shrivel up like a raisin and die on the spot.

The assembly lasted forever and my discomfort was not alleviated. In fact, I think it was augmented, if that was even possible. Eventually, the nonsense on the stage stopped after the guests were thanked one last time for coming to the school. Edward rushed out of the room, and I tried to tell myself that it was because he was late for something, and not because there was something wrong with me.

Before leaving, Ms. Gibbs gave me one last concerned look, and I ignored the fact that she thought I was a nutcase. She probably thought Mom was a nutcase as well. Like mother like daughter, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Mike walked over to me, frowning. "Did you step on Edward Cullen's foot, or something? I swear, I've never seen him so…." He trailed off, at my horrified face. It was me.

"He hates me!" I felt like crying. I've never really had anyone who absolutely hated me for no reason. It was really angering.

"It's ok. I swear!" Mike put his hands of defensively. "I mean, if someone doesn't like you, then it's their loss."

"Yeah, I guess," I said, walking out of the room with him. We parted ways, for I had to go back to the office to return paperwork. Imagine my surprise when I found the current bane of my existence in the office, bargaining with Mrs. Cope.

"Yes, I understand." He sounded like he was trying not to be irritated. "I was just hoping."

"You know I would, but that kind of information is confidential. She's not related to you." Mrs. Cope glanced at me nervously, and I had a feeling this had to do with me.

The office door opened, allowing Father in. "Hello, Bella." He was still in uniform, probably on break just to pick me up.

"Hi," I whispered, aware that Edward had tensed at my name. He briskly walked out, ignoring me completely.

"How was school?" Father asked.

"Wonderful," I said, smiling. "Just super."

I lied.

* * *

AN: For those of us who aren't familiar with 1920s slang: _copacetic (n) – excellent. Joe Brooks (n) – a perfectly dressed person. High hat (n) – a snob. _Now that I gave you definitions, spare a review or two?


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